


X is for Xenophobia

by Janieshi



Series: Alphabet [24]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Discrimination, F/M, Imprisonment, Language Barrier, Rescue Missions, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which a hostile nation holds Hawkeye captive and she struggles to make herself understood while patiently awaiting backup.





	X is for Xenophobia

_Xenophobic/ zēnəˈfōbik / adjective – relating to or exhibiting fear or hatred of foreigners, people from different cultures, or strangers._

* * *

The soft jangle of keys must have alerted her to his approach. By the time he’d opened the outer door, the detainee had scrambled to her feet and pressed her back into the farthest corner of her cell.

Although his country had made it clear that it did not welcome visitors, and that its borders were closely watched, there were still occasional intruders who dismissed the warnings until they found themselves forcibly removed. Those who seemed particularly suspicious or otherwise fought their ejection were instead detained until they could be brought before the judicial panel to determine their fate.

This young woman had been one of the fighters.

Though her face remained calm, there was a caution in the prisoner’s eyes that he didn’t quite like. With an ankle chained to the wall and her hands bound together behind her, she posed little threat, even discounting the heavy iron bars between them. And so the guard moved closer and held up his lantern to get a better look at her.

Over the course of his forty-five years, the guard had certainly seen his share of foreign detainees. But this woman did not resemble any race he’d come across thus far: neither the Xingese with their ivory skin and jet-black hair, nor the Ishvalans with their crimson eyes and dark tan complexions. This woman’s complexion fell somewhere in between those two– as did his own, come to that.

But while his skin had healthy olive undertones, the prisoner’s pale flesh was faintly pink, a shade or two paler than the skin of a downy peach. Her loose, shoulder-length hair was a pale yellowish gold, like corn-silk, and yet her eyes were the deep, rich brown he’d thought exclusive to his own people – the color of damp, freshly-turned earth in the spring. He wondered whether her people were farming folk as well, whether they revered the land as his did...and then marveled at himself for even thinking such a strange thing.

Throughout his visual assessment, the woman had stared calmly right back at him. When his eyes finally met hers, her whole body tensed, and he remembered that she was said to have injured several men before they’d finally subdued her. He could believe it, now, seeing the fire in her dark eyes. It reminded him somehow of a large cat crouching low, preparing to pounce.

To show her that her little display of bravado wasn’t affecting him, the guard threw open the door to her cage and stalked right up to her (keeping a hand on his weapon all the while, just in case).

She did not make any move to attack, as he’d half-expected. Nor did she flinch and cower. Instead, she stood straight and tall and perfectly still, the very image of pride and dignity.

Such a small little thing to be so defiant. He could snap her neck with one hand. And yet here she was, staring right through him as if his presence didn’t concern her in the least. Part of him was impressed by her spirit.

He snorted and turned on his heel, leaving the cell as abruptly as he’d entered it. As the bars clanged shut behind him, he thought he heard a shaky sigh. Human after all, then, and not as unaffected as she pretended.

The guard returned some time later, this time carrying a tray of food. He found the detainee in the same position he’d left her in. But this time, when he approached the bars, a flicker of fear passed over her face.

It unsettled him. He wasn’t a _cruel_ man. He took no pleasure in terrorizing women, not even foreign ones who were potentially dangerous.

“Would you relax?” he growled, annoyed by his own compassion.

The woman merely huffed, almost as though she’d understood him. Of course, that was impossible – he’d spoken in his native tongue, and he had no idea what language _her_ people spoke. So it was hardly any wonder that she watched his every move with those wary eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he added gruffly.

To his extreme shock, the woman responded in his own language.

“Forgive me if I do not believe you, uncle.”

He could only stare at her, mouth agape.

Tilting her head slightly, the woman gestured with her tightly bound wrists, so that he could see how the ropes had cut into her flesh. Uneasy, and slightly ashamed, he also noticed that the cut above her eye was still bleeding sluggishly, and that the faint red marks on her arms had not faded. Choosing to address what was, to him, the more pressing issue, he asked:

“You speak our tongue?”

“Among others,” she acknowledged with a little shrug. “Perhaps not good, or with wrong – with poor grammar, but I speak it.” With a trace of amusement, she added: “It is truly a large surprise? I am outsider, yes, barbarian to your eyes. But I can learn knowledge like you can.”

“I suppose...” he said uncertainly.

“Please,” she said. “Why are your people – how you say...” she paused, apparently searching her memory for the right words. “Why I am caged?” she asked at last.

“Outsiders are not welcome in my country,” he replied. “We do not allow foreigners to cross our borders.”

“I do not understand it, uncle,” she returned, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. “I did no-no evil, no harmful thing. If outsiders bring your people fear, why carry me into your land? Why place in cage and send me not far away?”

“Well, normally they _would’ve_ sent you far away; straight back to your own lands,” he replied, finding her awkward phrases oddly charming. “But you fought with and wounded several men in the patrol that was sent to escort you back across the border,” he explained, leaning against the bars that separated them. “For that, you’ll be brought before a panel of judges, who will decide your punishment for criminal trespass and assault.”

“It was not known!” she protested. “Your...patrol?” she tried uncertainly. He nodded, and she went on. “Your patrol does not speak this to me. They speak nothing, no word to me. I became lost, during dark time, in…fog? Dark and much fog, and strange men attack, grab from behind like...like thievery. No warn at me, nothing! I am scared; I fight to save myself. Who would not fight?”

Put in such a way, the guard found it difficult to argue with her.

“Nonetheless, you violated the laws of my country,” he said firmly. “You will be questioned soon. Depending on your answers, you may be sentenced to manual labor or to capital punishment, but either way you will be held accountable for your actions.”

“Capital...does this mean death?” she asked, her face turning pale as she spoke.

The guard cleared his throat, deeply disturbed by the sudden well of sympathy he felt for this strange woman.

“It might,” he conceded, reluctantly. “Doesn’t always mean execution, though. Could just be a flogging. You know, a whipping,” he said, when she looked uncertain. He mimed the arm motion, and she nodded to show that she understood, although her frown deepened. “Or...well, it all depends on you. Your intentions in coming here, your reason for violating our borders in the first place,” he shrugged.

“I was finding, no...loo-king,” she corrected herself, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. “I was looking for someone,” she went on. “Are there no others like me, here? In cage?”

“No, you’re the only foreigner the border patrol has picked up in several months,” he said. “Our nearest neighbors have learned to respect our laws.”

“I meant no disrespect,” she protested. “I only wish to find my...master? No, what is word? Friend? More than friend,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and apparently searching her memory. After a moment, she shook her head again and opened her eyes.  “I do not know how you say. My better. My _taisa_ ,” she said earnestly, as if she could make him understand through sheer willpower.

“I don’t know any of your language,” he admitted. “Your better…better half? Do you mean your husband, maybe? Or boyfriend? Er, you know- lover?”

“No...” she said uncertainly. “These not correct right words. _Taisa_ is...like master, or-or leader. This is closer in meaning, I think, but not right.” The guard pondered this for a minute, but the woman just sighed. “It matters not. Safer that _taisa_ not here also. He not allow **this** ,” she added, gesturing to her bound wrists. “He would bring you death.”

Her matter-of-fact words sent a shiver down the guard’s spine, even as he told himself that she probably didn’t realize what she was saying.

“Listen, I brought you some food,” he said instead, changing the subject abruptly. “I’ll untie your wrists if you give me your word that you won’t attempt escape. Understand?”

“Escape. Yes, I understand, uncle.”  Not exactly a promise, but close enough, the guard decided.

He slid the tray though the little opening in the bars that had been made for that purpose before he unlocked her door. As he approached her, he pulled a knife from his belt and indicated that she should turn around so he could reach her bonds.

Slowly, very slowly, she turned her back to him, and once again he found himself admiring her courage. He sawed at the rough ropes as gently as he could. When the cords fell away at last, she made a small, pained sound, but she did not move. And he realized that she was trembling.

“You can turn back around, now,” the guard said, stepping back. The woman did so, alternately shaking and clenching her hands in an attempt to bring the feeling back into them.

“My thanks, uncle,” she murmured. Her wrists were rubbed raw, the skin angry and red and no doubt quite painful. With another unwelcome pang of sympathy, he pointed at the food tray.

“Eat. I’ll be back to collect the tray later.”

She looked at the tray for the first time, and her features softened into a tiny smile. If she hadn’t been a foreigner, he might have thought her almost pretty, in that moment.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I am in your debt, uncle.” He grunted in reply, locked the door after himself, and left her alone.

Or so she thought. 

He watched the prisoner through a concealed spy-hole for longer than he intended to. She used some of the water to bathe her wounded wrists, before even investigating the edible contents of the tray. Then she stared at the thin soup for a long moment before tentatively touching the bowl to her lips. After a few small swallows, she waited several minutes more, unmoving, before breaking off a corner of the slightly stale bread. The guard wondered whether she wasn’t hungry after all.

And then it dawned on him: she was waiting to see if there were any ill effects. She was checking to see whether the food was drugged or poisoned.

“Clever girl,” he thought. But where had she learned such caution? What sort of place was her home country, anyway? What kind of life had she led until now? And why did he even _care_?

Once she’d finished her meagre meal, she carefully pushed the empty tray back through the opening he’d used, so that he’d be able to collect it without re-entering her cell. Only then did she sit wearily on the cot in the corner, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Although she was clearly very tired, she fought sleep, jerking awake every time her head nodded. Finally, though, exhaustion won out, and she dropped off with her head resting on her knees, back to the wall and body still angled toward the door.

When she woke, she would find a roll of cloth bandages and a small pot of salve in place of the empty tray.  The guard would watch with grudging respect as she carefully cleaned and bandaged her wrists, with only the occasional wince or hiss of pain, and he would refuse to think about his motives.

Over the next several days, the guard found himself making excuses to talk to her whenever he was on duty. There was really no need to watch the woman, chained as she was, and behind heavy iron bars. All that was required was for the guards to check on her a certain number of times during their shift, just to make sure she was still there and still breathing - at least until such time as the panel decided she no longer needed to be.

But there was nothing else half so interesting on his round, and so he often leaned against the wall outside her cell and struck up conversations.

She was from a country far in the north, he found. She was actually acquainted with several Xingese and a few Ishvalans, and was herself called an Amestrian. She had gotten separated from this _taisa_ person of hers, along with several other men they had been traveling with. Although the language barrier prevented her from fully explaining how this had happened, she had mentioned a terrifying accident, and reiterated the sensations of being lost and cold and alone in a thick fog before being attacked without warning.

When the patrol had first searched the subdued detainee and stripped her of her belongings, they’d found three guns, several spare clips of ammunition, and a handful of knives hidden under and amongst her clothing. She had simply shrugged when the guard questioned her about her need for so many weapons.

“It is my job,” she said, unconcerned. He wondered again what sort of life this young woman had led. Perhaps she was a bodyguard, and the man she was looking for was her client?

Though she was still extremely suspicious of the guard, she seemed to appreciate having someone to talk to. Prisoners usually did, in his experience. Even short periods of isolation did strange things to people, foreign or no.

Soon she started asking him questions about his own life, about his home and what his country was like. He was leery of telling her too much, at first, but he didn’t really see the harm in it. Who was she going to tell?

Her interrogation took place four days after her arrival. And it did not go well.

The guard wasn’t even sure why he’d lingered. His duty was to deliver her to the chambers and bear her away again to her cell once they’d finished, but he might have amused himself elsewhere in the interim. Instead, he stationed himself among the other spectators to listen to her hearing.

Like him, the elderly men on the panel of judges had been surprised that the woman spoke their language, however haltingly. But that fact hadn’t done her much good.

They’d peppered her with questions about her country (Amestris, she called it). They accused her of being a spy, which she vehemently denied, and demanded monetary restitution on behalf of the men she’d injured, which of course she did not have. And when they finally allowed her to speak in her own defense, they interrupted her at every turn, scoffing at her errors in syntax and making snide remarks about her parentage and her virtue that she didn’t fully understand.

If she had broken down and burst into tears, she might have at least gained their pity and so, perhaps, their leniency. But her cool pride never wavered, and her voice was steady even when her cheeks burned with anger and shame.

“If your patrol say to me, ‘this is our law,’ instead of attack like - like wild dogs, then I not fight,” she said reproachfully, ignoring the collective gasp at her use of the word ‘dog.’ She likely had no idea how grave an insult it was, here. “It was not needed to beat or to restrain me. If your patrol say to me, ‘you must go away,’ then I go away in peace. Instead they attack, so I fight to defend myself. So many big, strong men are being very much afraid from one lost woman, all alone,” she scoffed. “One woman so much threat, yes? Next they lock me into cage, they promise whipping and maybe to kill. But they call _me_ the barbarian.” The woman shook her head, disdain clear on her face.

Murmurs broke out all around, and the guard noted with interest that not all of them were murmurs of disagreement. The judges must have noticed as well, for they sent the foreign intruder back to her cell with the ominous assurance that her sentence would be given in two days’ time.

“It was not wise to provoke them, little one,” he said, as he led her back to the cell.

“It matters not what I say. I see this in their faces,” she replied. “The…pick?” she turned toward him, gauging her word choice by his confusion. “Choice,” she tried next, “their choice is decided already, and against my favor.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” he protested weakly. She just looked at him.

“I know the hearts of such men,” she said simply. “Hate is the same, in all languages.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he did not try.

It was only once she was back in her cell, ankle re-chained to the wall and wrists freed, that she spoke again.

“Thank you for your concern, uncle.”

“Stop calling me that,” he growled. She frowned.

“It is not right honorific in your language?” she asked, clearly dismayed.

“No. I mean, yes, it’s correct,” he admitted. “But calling me ‘uncle’ makes me feel like an old man. You know, I’m not _that_ much older than you, little one,” he griped.

“Yet you say to me ‘little one,’” she chided gently, giving him an odd little almost-smile.

“I do not know your name,” he reminded her. “What else can I call you?” At that, she hummed low in her throat and considered.

“Hawk,” she said at last. “Is nearest, I think. The rest is...” she shrugged. “Hard for to say, I think.” Or else she simply didn’t want to tell him. Which was fine. He hadn’t given her his name, either.

“Hawk, eh?” he smiled. “I’d have thought ‘lioness’ would suit you better.”  

She tilted her head slightly to one side.

“Lioness?” she repeated. “This is a large cat, yes? With the fur around his face?” She made a gesture with her hands, to indicate a shaggy mane, and the guard laughed.

“Yes, that’s right. Lion. The females are called lioness.”

“Lie-oh-ness,” she said again, rolling the strange word around on her tongue. Then she smiled another little almost-smile. “Very strange. This is near to how my father called me, long ago.”

“Little lioness, then,” the guard nodded, pleased with himself.

“What am I to call you? Since uncle is not good?” she asks.

“You choose something for me,” he teased her. “Since I’ve given you a nickname.”

“Then...how is Bear?” she suggested, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Bear, huh?” he laughed. Well, he was tall and broad, with dark shaggy hair. Goodness, this strange woman was really growing on him. “Yes, that will do. I have other duties to attend to, my little lioness, but I will visit you again tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Good night, Bear.”

* * *

It was only by chance that he heard the news.

There’d been rumors of a skirmish on the northern border wherein not just one but several foreigners had reportedly breached their defenses. These men might even now be headed toward the capitol, and heaven only knew what would happen when they arrived. This disturbing news had turned the tide of opinion against the blonde barbarian woman, and the elders were eager to make an example of her in the hopes that the other intruders would be frightened away. Her execution was scheduled for sunrise.

This did not sit well with her guard.

He waited until the night watch had passed the building that housed her, and slipped inside as quietly as possible.

She was awake, still, and seemed almost to be waiting for him. At any rate, she didn’t make a noise when he unlocked her cell door and crouched over her in the darkness.

“You must run, little lioness,” he whispered, fumbling with her shackle. “They’ve scheduled your execution; it’s at dawn. It doesn’t make any sense! Why execute you? No one was killed when you were apprehended, you didn’t commit any crimes, and normally they’d just whip you as a warning to heed our laws, maybe put you in the stocks for a day or two, or even just brand you and send you back to your country, but this...” he only realized he was rambling when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“If I am found gone, what is done to you?” she asked quietly. He shook his head.

“Don’t you worry; I’ve got a plan,” he lied. He pulled her to her feet and then fumbled to retrieve something he’d tucked into his uniform.

“Here, I brought these for you,” he explained, pushing a small bundle into her hands. Her eyes lit up when she twitched the cloth aside to reveal her weapons. He prayed he hadn’t made a mistake, trusting her with them, as he watched her quickly check and load them, tucking them into various pockets of her loose clothing.

Lioness tucked one last knife into the top of her boot and then looked up at him.

“Thank you, Bear,” she said sincerely.

“Come,” he said gruffly, taking her arm.

She allowed him to lead her out of the building, through a series of twisty corridors she would never have been able to navigate alone. They ran across the square, where the hastily-erected gallows for the execution loomed dark and foreboding against the night sky. Skidding to a halt beside the raised platform, he paused, a hand still on her arm, to make sure the path was still clear.

And his world tilted on its axis.

Stars exploded behind his eyes, followed immediately by blinding pain in his head.

“ ** _Taisa_**!” Lioness cried.

“ _Chuui_ ,” a deep voice replied, with clear relief.

The guard risked opening his eyes, only to find himself  hauled to his feet by a snarling dark-haired man with eyes as black as pitch.

The man growled something in his mother tongue, his face only inches from the guard’s. Though he did not understand the words, the promise of vengeance in the stranger’s dark eyes was clear enough.

“ _Taisa_!”  Lioness said. “ _Yamette!_ ”

The foreigner’s dark eyes flicked over to her, taking in the purple bruises on her arms and face and the cloth bandages still wrapped around the wounds on her wrists. If possible, the sight made him even angrier. But Lioness said something else in their tongue, something that sounded urgent, and the man’s grip on the guard’s throat loosened slightly as he replied. Although the words sounded harsh and guttural to his ears, they made Lioness smile slightly.

Terrified, the guard’s eyes darted between the blonde woman and the half-averted face of his assailant.

“He wish to kill you for my hurt,” Lioness explained softly.

“I-I tried to help you,” Bear managed in a half-strangled whisper.

“I know this, yes. But Mustang- _taisa_ does not understand. I am asking him to let go. Please do not fight,” she warned softly. “I not stop him again.”

_Would_ not stop him? Or _could_ not? Bear wondered. But he nodded, to show he understood.

The foreign man’s grip had loosened another fraction.

“ _Chuui?_ ” the man said again, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Lioness turned towards him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. In a low voice, she spoke rapidly and quietly in her native language. When she’d finished, the man’s fingers clenched reflexively tighter, just for a moment, and then he released the guard entirely.

Bear slid to the ground, gasping for breath and rubbing his throat. The dark-haired man barked out an order to the other men with him, who Bear honestly hadn’t noticed until that very moment.

Two moved quickly to stand on either side of the fallen guard. They hauled him to his feet, and for a dizzying moment Bear thought they were going to kill him after all, but they released him as soon as they’d maneuvered him to stand behind Lioness and her _taisa_. Once the others were out of his way, the dark-haired man raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Instantaneously, the main gate exploded into roaring flames.

Bear could only gape in shock and terror as the debris rained down around them. Distant shouts of alarm could be heard from the village at their back.

“Heaven spare us,” Bear gasped. “Is your lover a demi-god, Lioness?”

She blinked at him, startled by the question. And then she threw her head back and laughed aloud, a joyous sound.

Her countrymen exchanged confused glances, reassuring Bear that he was not the only person to question her sanity.

“Not a god, Bear. _Taisa_ is an alchemist,” she explained, beaming. “You are in good health? This help for your plan, yes?” she added, brushing gentle fingers over the lump on his head. Bear managed a huff of laughter at the irony.

“Sure,” he said.

“Stay here, so others see you not help wild barbarian woman and her comrades,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” he groaned, touching his head gingerly.

“Farewell, Bear.”

“Farewell, Lioness.”

The group of foreigners scattered, then, most of them running for the gate. Lioness and the man she called _taisa_ lingered for just a moment, long enough for him to cup her cheek in his palm and murmur a question that made the woman  smile - a real smile, this time, and one that made her whole face light up.

“ _Hai_ , _taisa_ ,” she replied. “ _Ikimashou?_ ”

And then they, too, were gone.

The guard sank back down to the ground and then lay on his back, waiting to be found, thinking over the story he planned to tell to avoid his own execution.

And he wondered, not for the first time, whether the xenophobia of his little country had gotten out of hand. Whether he should go out into the world and see for himself how all of these ‘barbarian’ peoples truly lived; what there was to be so afraid of, out there in the wide world.

“Someday, little lioness...perhaps someday you and I shall meet again,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Language notes:  
> I'm assuming everyone already knows what 'taisa' and 'chuui' mean - normally I don't like to throw in Japanese words like that, since I am writing in English. It can be jarring to have a bunch of random honorifics in a language that doesn't utilize them in the same way, or where direct translation sounds awkward or unnatural. But I felt it was appropriate here, as a reflection of Hawkeye's status as an outsider. The other words I used translate as follows:  
> Yamatte - (please) stop it!  
> Ikimashou - shall we go?  
> Huge thank you to hasiba42, who was kind enough to assist with the Japanese


End file.
